I'm envious of you two.

You both look so happy, truly in love.
You had to wait until he broke up with her and he finally did. Now you two are together, looking happier than ever.
You're being silly and goofy together, you laying on her lap.
You guys truly look happy.
You love her
And she loves you
I'm truly envious of you two

You never looked at me like that...

Together I see you
I try not to stare
That girl do you love her
Or simply not care

Attention focused
On one another
That boy do you love him
Or does it not matter

I don't care and it doesn't matter
Maybe you two will be happy together

For
You never looked at me like that...

She rises at night,
As new or full,
And she pulls him to his feet.

He rises at the sight of her,
A reflection of her old self,
Yet still illuminated
In her inconsistent darkness.

When she is unbalanced
He aches to compensate,
Attempts to return her kindness,
But he is left merely trying,
With her unsure of dying.

For the moon can raise the tide,
But the tide can't light the moon.

Write everyday.
Write everyday no matter what.
Write even at a loss for words.
Write down the sounds.

I make notes of the plane crashes
I've never heard, the brook trout
that never shook pond water
onto the brittle grass when I didn't
catch it, or the thunder cup coil
I keep kneeing trying to give the overcast
over the mountain something to compete
with.

And I'm not sorry.
       I'm not.      I'm not sorry that my
reborn Christian best    friend    has   seen the    light,
and I still scoff when people pray over potatoes.
And I only believe in plastic Polaroid postcards
from last decade timestamped in the white space
with Bic black ink.
I'm not sorry for that.

And truth is, I've never washed this black shirt;
just hung it hoping that moths' would ****
the sweat spots and leave
the fabric.

I clenched the gold cap beneath
my ring finger from the glass green
bottle occupying my lips driving
down the Marsh Creek bridge.
I wanted to relate / to be relatable /
relative to the sedans, and seatbelts
too tight to breathe, passing me.

At the end of the bridge, where there was no chance
of drowning and the road color changed, I parked
in the driveway of a wooden house. Its blinds
were up, shades pulled apart with two hands
like gas station freezer doors, leaving them
vulnerable to the hiss of semi truck tractor
trailer high beams slicing through fifty +
raindrops per second going a few miles shy
of sixty-five, yet the people inside moved so freely.
I  sat Indian-style—a term I learned at four
then learned it to be racist at fourteen—
in their driveway, and ate the gravel
they walked on trying to taste security
because all I'd had in the last few hours
were plates of refried fear.

Fear of audit, of my teeth breaking off,
and of ending up like Eric Garner
when I heard that wailing
Voice of Justice
coming for me in the distance.

The Delicately exquisite touch
One pattern after the other
Soft symmetry laced one in one
Tight pulse of fixation
Don't let go
Longing to linger,
The small Warmth of trust.

but
     I
      want
               to
                 sin
                     on
                         every
                                  inch
                                        of
                                           your
                                                 body.

"Forever?"* is too long;
"Love me?" is too difficult;
"Stay?" is too needy;
"Hold me?" is too awkward...

Some how my questions are always wrong,
I just want to regain the love that I once felt;
But I'm left with broken bones and broken heart on the ground pleading,
And he dusts himself off, walking away telling me to *"keep going onward."

F**k butterflies, my stomach has birds in it.
My body's shaking, my heart is racing, my pulse is high.
You're gorgeous, and I woke up this morning with a zit.
How'd a girl like you settle for a "me" kind of guy?

I'm usually witty, but my words don't work well for this.
It's just that you're so pretty, you make my knees weak!
At the end of the date, my pulse hit five-fifty.
I realize it's lame that I asked for permission before we kissed...
I was just trying to take the time to aim for your lips.
See, the funny part is...

                                       I was afraid I might miss.